


Alive and Loved

by Piehead



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Ableism, Depression, Fluff, M/M, Sorta; it's sorta interanlized, supportive boyfriends, supportive jack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-27
Updated: 2016-11-27
Packaged: 2018-09-02 14:13:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8670676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Piehead/pseuds/Piehead
Summary: Bitty has depression. He lives with it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So there was a bit of projecting in this since I am a person with depression as well. I wanted to toy with the concept of Bitty being depressed. I could see it being true, but that's just me personally.

You would never guess just by looking at him.

When people heard the word “depressed” they thought of an individual who was constantly sad, constantly a downer, constantly on the verge of committing suicide, even. They pictured someone who was all greys and browns, unable to go about without sounding like a sad case of a human being, always moping about and never having anything good to say. They didn’t think of the folks around them with depression, they didn’t think of upbeat, chipper, fellows with southern accents and blonde hair and a penchant for baking.

They didn’t think of Eric Bittle.

He was possibly the exact opposite of what folks thought of when they heard the word “depressed.” He was constantly moving, in his phone most of the time, he could rarely be found without a smile on his face. He chirped his teammates and they had fun together, doing one thing or another, and he laughed and cried to the rise and fall of whatever events happened in his life. People didn’t look at him and think, “Oh, that boy has depression.”

But just because they couldn’t see it didn’t mean Bitty didn’t have it. Just because he could smile and laugh and joke with his friends didn’t meant that there weren’t times when he wanted to crawl into a hole and hide, it didn’t mean that he didn’t feel like a waste of space, like he shouldn’t exist, like everything in his life was wrong and he couldn’t fix it and so shouldn’t and never would.

It didn’t mean he was always sad. In fact, more often than not, Bitty felt absolutely _nothing_. Not a damn thing, not a single emotion. He couldn’t bring himself to simply _feel_ , and he knew it made him the odd one out at times.

He came from a southern home; when the therapist told him he was depressed, he hadn’t believed it. How could _he_ be depressed? There was no way. He had loving friends and a good family, he went to a great school, he hadn’t had to worry about bullies in _years-_

And yet. He told his therapist about the days when it took too much energy to get out of bed, about the days when he left class feeling less confused and more _nothing_ , about the hours he would spend staring off into space wondering why he was still trying when it was obvious he should probably just stop. He told his therapist and he hid his tears and he tried to make sense of his own head.

“I’m gonna write you a prescription,” Dr. Johnson said, “That’ll help. It’s for an antidepressant. I know you don’t want to take it but it’ll help. Trust me.”

Bitty hadn’t wanted to take it. He hadn’t wanted to have to need it at all, because his father- _Coach_ would say he was fine, he just needed to get up and go out more. He needed to get over himself, that was all.

The antidepressants made the hard days better. When he didn’t want to take them but needed to, when he felt like things were going to spiral down and there was no point in him doing anything anymore, he worked up the courage to take his medicine, and he let it do its work, and he was able to stand and go about his day and smile and be able to really _feel_. They didn’t make the emptiness go away, but they helped it shrink into something he could manage.

Jack was the first to find out about it.

They were alike and different in many ways. Jack managed his anxiety with medicine like Bitty managed his depression. They were two people who worked alongside their illness to get better, unknowingly supporting one another on tougher days. When Bitty saw Jack was having an off day he did his best to be patient and encouraging, helping Jack through the rougher patches. When Jack saw Bitty down, he did his best to cheer him up, or even to just sit with Bitty until the moment had passed.

It felt easiest to tell Jack about it, because Jack was the least likely to worry over him constantly.

“I have depression,” he blurted over coffee. They were in the Haus kitchen and the others had already gone off to class. Bitty’s morning math class had been cancelled, thankfully. It was a rougher day, in between prescriptions. His therapist was out of town and he had been without his medication for three days already. He hadn’t exactly realized how much it helped him until he was without it.

Jack didn’t reply immediately. He stared into his coffee, took a sip, considered. Then he looked up at Bitty, looked him in the eye, let Bitty see the concern he felt.

“How long have you had it?” he asked.

“A while,” Bitty felt the tension melt out of his shoulders. He didn’t have anxiety as bad as Jack, but he knew it was there, in the back of his mind.

“Have you been doing alright with it? How bad does it get?” The questions were ones Bitty wasn’t entirely prepared to answer, but he knew he shouldn’t have really been surprised.

“I’ve been… managing,” he answered truthfully, “And some days it gets pretty darn bad.”

And that was the truth. Since he had run out he wasn’t doing very well.

“Hey.” Jack reached over to place a hand on Bitty’s arm. “It doesn’t last forever.”

They were meant to be helpful words; something Jack was telling him to remind him he wasn’t alone, and to remind him that the feelings _didn’t_ last forever, not even when they felt like an eternity. They would go away eventually.

Somehow that was the encounter Bitty found himself thinking about when he and Jack were going about their daily routines in Jack’s apartment. It was a weekend Bitty got to spend in Providence with his boyfriend, the two of them domestic almost. Bitty couldn’t have felt more relieved at being able to spend it with the love of his life.

“Don’t forget your medicine, Bits,” Jack kissed the top of his head as he stopped into the bathroom to look in the mirror. He was checking to see if he needed a shave any time soon, but he found his face satisfactory for now.

“Mm,” Bitty simply hummed, he had been thinking about the day he had first told Jack about his depression, the thought popping into his head as he looked at the two pill bottles that sat side by side on the bathroom counter. One read Eric R. Bittle and the other Jack L. Zimmermann. They were both half full.

“Did you take yours?” Bitty asked, looking up at his boyfriend. Jack hesitated, only for a moment, before reaching over to grab his own pill bottle. Bitty hummed in disapproval, but he was glad that they had each other as reminders.

“I was just waiting for you,” Jack recovered, popping the bottle open. Bitty hid a smile by ducking his head and opening the bottle in his own hands. He pulled out his recommended dosage and popped it into his mouth. Jack mirrored the action with his own medicine.

“Whatever you say, Mister Zimmermann.” Bitty’s smile grew and Jack smiled right back at him, ducking down to give him a kiss. Bitty laughed and tried to get away.

“I have morning breath, Jack, come on!”

“Don’t care.”

Jack crowded Bitty out of the bathroom and down the hall to the kitchen, still trying to pepper his boyfriend in kisses. The two pill bottles sat side by side, and if you looked at them, you’d never guess one was for depression and the other for anxiety.

You’d also never guess that the people that took those pills were content with their lives.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments? Concerns? Questions?


End file.
